Xia Shi and Lu Tingchuan walked the carpet shoulder to shoulder, their hands intertwined the entire time. With names as weighty as theirs, of course the media wouldn’t let them just breeze down the red carpet and be done.
After exchanging a few polite words with the host, they were quickly swarmed by a sea of reporters.
In a flash, countless microphones were shoved toward Xia Shi, while Lu Tingchuan had no choice but to serve as a very dignified human mic stand.
“Xia Shi, are you really TIME?”
The first reporter blurted the question, then immediately turned red. Damn it—where did her professionalism go? What kind of question was that? The truth was obvious. Who would dare impersonate TIME? Who could pull that off? As if Lemon TV wouldn’t do their fact-checking? As if Sophie and Shen Hui would stand by and watch?
The scoop was simply too big. Her mouth had outrun her brain. And the second she asked, regret hit hard.
But Xia Shi answered seriously, “The real deal. I can have Shen Hui and Sophie vouch for me if needed.”
The reporter froze, even more embarrassed now. She wanted to apologize, but the surrounding reporters were already firing questions nonstop, quickly drowning her out.
“TIME, can you tell us why you’ve never appeared at any domestic or international music festivals? Was it to keep a sense of mystery?”
“What made you decide to finally step into the spotlight this time?”
“TIME, when did you and Film Emperor Lu get married?”
“TIME, what’s your response to all the online chatter the past couple of days?”
One question after another, barely leaving Xia Shi any time to answer.
She waited until they finally ran out of breath and smiled, “There was never any intention to be mysterious. I didn’t attend all those events simply because I’ve been doing behind-the-scenes work, not performing. And also…”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “As you all probably know, these events usually mean gowns and sky-high heels. Ten or fifteen centimeters at least! I didn’t even have a decent pair of heels. These ones? I borrowed them from Sophie last-minute. They don’t even fit. I almost tripped back there. Thank goodness for Mr. Lu here.”
The reporters all stared in stunned silence, faces collectively screaming, are you serious right now?
Please. Lu Tingchuan alone made it to Forbes with his earnings. Not to mention his personal shares and endorsements. TIME? With her level of influence, she wouldn’t even need to buy heels—brands would beg to sponsor her the second she hinted at attending.
She skipped the Grammys and Oscars… because of heels?
Lu Tingchuan the enabler, added, “She won’t fall. Not on my watch.”
He said it with a teasing smile and eyes full of affection.
The dog food was strong with this one.
Right there, on live broadcast, with zero shame, he broke character and openly flirted. Male god, are you even trying to keep that “elegant gentleman” image anymore?
Xia Shi playfully rolled her eyes at him.
The ceremony was already starting inside, and staff quickly came to escort them in. As they walked off, the stunned press finally snapped out of it.
“TIME! You haven’t answered half the questions!”
“TIME, can we grab you for a backstage interview?”
“TIME—!”
Xia Shi exhaled deeply once seated, clearly relieved. Lu Tingchuan bent down, trying to check on her feet. As soon as his hand moved, she slapped it away.
“What are you doing?! What did we agree on before we left the house? Mind the occasion!”
Her scolding glare made him chuckle. “I just wanted to check if your feet are okay.”
She wiggled her foot. “I’m fine. Just not used to wearing such high heels after so long.”
She bit her lip.
Honestly, every red carpet was full of women in sky-high heels. She wasn’t the only one. But considering her already tall figure, she didn’t need the height boost. However, the gown Sophie had picked for her was floor-length—and only a pair of platform stilettos would work.
She narrowed her eyes. This was definitely Sophie’s doing. With her 5’7″ (171cm) height, plus the 6-inch heels Sophie first suggested (which Xia Shi flat-out refused), she still ended up with 4-inches. No shorter heels were allowed.
She glanced at the 6’1″ Lu Tingchuan beside her. Women always looked taller than men with the same height… Sophie was evil.
Meanwhile, Yin Ru was sitting stiffly, using her long, flowing hair to block her face and avoid any eye contact with the couple beside her.
No wonder.
She had assumed that the fans—and the internet mob—would help her regain her red carpet finale spot by accusing Lu Tingchuan of abusing his influence. She expected Lemon TV to cave under public pressure.
But no matter how loud the noise online got, Lemon TV didn’t budge.
And now she knew why—because Xia Shi was TIME.
Of course they wouldn’t move her.
She’d been told her seat was next to TIME, only to arrive and see Xia Shi’s name on the tag.
Yin Ru clenched her hands so tightly her freshly manicured nails dug into her palms, one snapping slightly. The sharp pain brought her back to herself.
After years in the industry, she quickly pasted on a perfect smile and turned to say, “Xia Xia, it’s been a long time.”
Xia Shi was briefly stunned. They’d both been contestants on The Most Beautiful Voice nine years ago. Never enemies, but never close. That overly friendly “Xia Xia” felt odd.
Still, she played along. “Hey, long time.”
Yin Ru breathed a bit easier and tried to keep the conversation going. “Where have you been all these years? At our last reunion, everyone mentioned you. And now look—you’re married, and your kid’s so big already!”
“My dad works in the U.S. After what happened back then, my mom got me a dependent visa and brought me over. I’ve been in the States ever since. Got into Curtis and finally finished what I couldn’t complete in China. Just got back recently.”
Just a few casual sentences, but they made Yin Ru freeze.
Curtis.
One of the most prestigious music conservatories in the world.
Back then, most of their peers were just 18 or 19. Barely out of high school. Maybe they’d gotten a local diploma to round things out. But Curtis?
Yin Ru faltered—long enough to miss her chance to continue the conversation. The award for Best Composer was being announced—and it was Xia Shi’s.
It wasn’t her first Golden Wheat win. But it was her first time stepping on stage to accept it in person.
The weight of the trophy in her hands made her heart beat faster. Adjusting the mic, she took a deep breath.
“I’m honored to receive this award. I know I should thank the organizers, my parents, my friends, and fans… But right now, the person I most want to thank—”
She paused, eyes locking on Lu Tingchuan.
“—is Mr. Lu.”
“Thank you for staying by my side through the hardest times of my life. For giving up an incredibly important film role just to be there for me. For your constant encouragement, helping me find a new path and stand up again. Thank you, Mr. Lu, for helping me understand what it means when God closes a door, He will always leave a window open.”
Lu Tingchuan smiled up at her with eyes glistening.
Everyone thought he saved her. That he helped her come back stronger.
Even Xia Shi herself believed it. But only he knew—she was the strong one.
She was destined to shine.
In their past life, they had missed seven years. But she had risen on her own. That day he found her again, he couldn’t hold back his joy.
And that was how everything got exposed—leading to endless rumors, slander, and harassment.
Especially since the truth about Guo Zihua and Liang Mengmeng hadn’t come to light yet. Everyone believed the worst of Xia Shi. The rumors only got uglier. The two of them were driven into a corner.
Lu Tingchuan’s chest trembled, eyes brimming with tears.
Back onstage, Xia Shi finished her speech and began stepping down. Her steps faltered, the gown was long and the heels too high.
Without a second thought, Lu Tingchuan leapt to his feet, striding up to her. One hand gripped hers, the other supported her waist.
But she was already teetering—and before she could fall—
Lu Tingchuan scooped her into a princess carry.
Xia Shi was stunned. She blinked and he was already carrying her off the stage, striding towards the exit.
Behind them, the entire audience, hosts, and viewers were frozen with expressions like: Σ(っ°Д°;)っ
